


Keep It Hidden

by beanbags



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29969172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanbags/pseuds/beanbags
Summary: Julian's a mage AU.After Julian finds out what his parents have done to him, he hides his power and vows to follow a normal life in Star Fleet. But when he's faced with the choice of losing his friend or using his magic to save him, what will he choose? And what are the consequences?
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Keep It Hidden

It had been a thousand years since magic had been witnessed within the Alpha Quadrant. A thousand years since mage’s tricks and spells were commonly used from Andoria to Vulcan, to heal the sick, take down the powerful and, less heroically, to give joy to young children. Small in number, there were still sizeable group of them- stretched across the star systems and planets, loosely in contact and yet always, somehow, in quarrel.

But no mage had been seen recently on Terra, Andoria, Betazed or Vulcan. The wizards were gone, fled; or some said they never existed at all. After all, what logic is there in magic? How can something exist if it cannot be explained? In the new world of rules and reason magic was forgotten, or forcibly pushed out and removed from community and memory.

The persecutions began on Vulcan, and spread, as ideas were wont to do, on the cosmic drift through the galaxy. Mages were vanishing; one year in contact and the next they were gone. Burnt, exiled, persecuted.

Those who could not escape faced a simple choice: hide or face death.

And so it had been for a thousand years. Magic was the stuff of stories and legend, fables to tell children before bedtime and nothing more. A fun holoadventure allowed you to play with magical powers, or else to watch a holovid for the same escapism. All the while the folk who had magic held to it fast and quiet. Telling none but their own kind, they eventually lost contact with one another between systems, then planets, then between continents. In this age, it is seldom common for a mage to know of any others outside their family.

This is the magery that one Julian Subatoi Bashir was born into. Not the high art his ancestors, who had helped raise and level empires and fight beasts now known only to legend, had lived in. No, he was born into a small family and to two parents whose only pride was their magic. Professions and careers never lasted long and traditional success never came to the family. But that was because they spent all their time on their craft, and of course, there was no official success in an art that had to remain secret.

Not, Julian often thought wryly, that they were very good at hiding it. Inevitably, his father would ultimately try to make up for a long string of failures in his newest career choice with a poorly thought out hex or charm. The universal balance of things, it turned out, didn’t take kindly to being used for such a frivolous an act as the securing of a promotion in one’s landscape designing firm. Things inevitably went wrong. Hexes turned against them, charms backfired. Once his father had banished himself to the shadow realm, completely accidentally, for a week after attempting to automate his paperwork. Another time he was turned purple during one of Julian's sports days.

They ended up moving around a lot, once people turned suspicious. Which was incredibly hard on Julian.

He was what one would call a lonely child, but not by choice. Moving around of course made it hard to keep friends, but his parents also were incredibly wary of Julian’s tendency to, well, blurt out things on a whim. Which Julian thought was quite understandable, if it weren’t his parents which were the ones that kept outing the family's magical little secret in the first place.

So Julian didn't have many friends, and he had considered his childhood strange, though lonely, but altogether quite average. No traumatic events, apart from the aforementioned shadow-realm incident. He hadn’t managed to accidentally blow anyone up as his magic developed either, which is apparently something his mother had done at age four. His magic had developed normally, he was relatively well gifted in the arts and enjoyed practicing it.

He was particularly good at healing and mending. His stuffed toy, Kukalaka, was his first patient; he had sat in his bedroom as his mother guided his enchantments that wove the worn fur of the stuffed bear back together fiber by fiber until he looked almost as good as new. His mother had cried out of pride, had called him a natural mender, and hugged both he and Kukalaka to her warm breast. He still holds this memory as fond.

A gifted mender already, he knew he wanted to be a healer after an incident on Invernia II. Recently moved there after his mother had charmed some cakes to sing at a bake fair (an accident, she swore it), he and his father and a girl who didn't know enough standard to even tell him her name were trapped during an ion storm. For days they had been forced to take cover in the caves that lay outside the settlement, and Julian’s father was exhausted from maintaining the wards at the cave entrance that kept the worst of the lightening from them.

The girl had become sick rapidly, but Julian had worked quickly. He first had tried to draw the sickness out of her, placing her hands on her stomach and pulling the virus from her blood; but it did not work. He had cursed then, and wished his mother were here, for she was the one gifted and knowledgeable in herbalism and healing. His father, unable to do more than eat and sleep as his magic worked to protect them, did not have much knowledge of healing even if he could give it.

For a day, Julian had tried and failed to draw the sickness from the girl, each time draining his energy more. She had become unconscious, and between her and his drained father, Julian felt alone and defeated. He’d closed his eyes and he cast his mind within to feel his power. He had learned that all the knowledge that was written had first come from deep meditation, of a congress with the first mage’s inner power. This was the first time Julian had attempted it, and was considered too advanced for a boy of ten. Yet he was desperate.

He fell in on himself, drowning in the power that usually rested only as a practical buzz at his fingertips. Caverns and chasms of darkness, he spun and floated through it, endless, dark, thick black. He was the darkness and the black was him, he rested and explored and looked down into the abyss. He spent the time at peace, and only when his father awoke him a day later from his catatonic state, drool crusted down his chin, did he realise that he should have been terrified. Terrified of the darkness that lay in him, endless.

Yet he had got up, immediately walked into the cave system and found the moss that would save the girl’s life.

In his magic he had found the power to heal, and he knew it was his calling.

And yet… the darkness troubled him. It gnawed away, and every time he sat to enter his power again, he drew back afraid. Afraid of what was inside him, of what he was.

He didn’t understand why until five years later, at a rare extended family meeting. An offhand comment by an uncle he’d never met regarding Julian’s late developing abilities. A mention of a ritual. Questions raised by him, first calm, then shouting. Being lead back to the house, where his mother and father sat across from him at their kitchen table. He always would remember the plaid pattern on the table cloth, as his parents detailed exactly what they had done to him. Or, as they said, done _for_ him.

Dark magic, black, evil magic had been summoned for little Jules. Three year old Jules Bashir who hadn’t an ounce of magic in his blood, who likely would have lived a normal terran life amongst his magical family, albeit he'd be the shame of his parents. So shamed that they lay him, unclothed and asleep upon a tree trunk, and summoned the dark powers to gift him what he lacked. They had poured lambs blood upon his baby smooth skin, and watched as the crawling slick mass of darkness enveloped their boy, had writhed around his child's body and left with him what they desired: power.

But at what price?

Julian had left that kitchen and had not seen his parents since. He’d taken a shuttle to earth, from whatever backwater colony they had been on, and enrolled himself in a local school. Had worked like a dog to study and catch up with the non-magical subjects he’d so frivolously ignored before. He’d worked hard enough that he was been accepted into medical school, and then Starfleet Academy.

He hadn’t done a single spell since. Had not meditated and joined with his power. It sickened him. What they did to Jules. For he was sure he was no longer sweet little, normal Jules Bashir anymore, but someone else. Something wrong and twisted and evil, like the power inside him. And so he gave himself a new name, and hid what he was. He buried it down deep within himself, so deep that he often forgot that he had anything to hide. And when he did for a moment remember, a fear rushed through him, hot and quick. He feared what he was capable of, of that thick endless black that lay within his soul, that was the source of his power. And then, as quickly as the fear had come, he pushed it down and forgot, and laughed and got on with his work. For what else could he do?

But of course all things buried eventually resurface.

**Year 2370 - Starfleet runabout between Arawath and Deep Space Nine**

Garak was dying. No, Julian, thought, Garak was almost surely dead. If he hadn't died whilst Julian wasted time on his pointless trip, then he was sure to be dead within a few days. Tain had ensured it. Had said, so calmly and coolly to Julian’s pleading face that he wouldn’t provide the information. That he wanted Garak to die “among people who hate him, and knowing that he can never again return home.”

Julian had moved to beg for his friend, his pride not big enough to refuse the panic rising within him, but Tain had raised a hand.

“Please, Doctor. Tell Elim that he’ll be sorely missed.”

And with that, Julian had materialized back on the runabout, hundreds of thousands of miles above the planet’s surface, and unable to return. Barred, exiled.

Had this trip been for nothing? An empty gesture to ease his guilt, to soften the inevitable passing of his friend? For yes, Garak was surely a friend, if not his only close friend on the station. Julian might have denied it before the events of the past few days, but he certainly was in no mood to hide his feelings now. He cared for the man, more deeply than he had realized, if the tumult of emotions inside of him were any indication.

The entire journey home, he attempted to model on the computer the leukocytes Garak needed, to fix the aberration in the man’s molecular structure so he could synthesize them. But he made little progress. No doubt they would have to reverse engineer it and start from the beginning, the entire process could take weeks. And Garak only had a day or two left. Garak was going to die.

Unless…

Unless?

Julian slapped himself, physically jolting him out of that dark, insidious thought.

Unless nothing.

He returned to the leukocyte structure on his screen and made notes on possible synthesis patterns. Structure A was remarkably similar to Structure B, meaning that if he mirrored the process they could half the time…

Still not time enough.

He remembered a cold hand, gripping his. Those blue eyes, bright even in the dim light of the infirmary, staring up at him. Asking for forgiveness. And he had given it, for whatever Garak had done.

He’d thought it an act of kindness for his friend. Now, he viewed it as Garak’s final absolution. How hollow an act, to give forgiveness and yet not fully- to give it in expectation that the man would live, in expectation that he could do good in the future. That the man he is now -whether good or bad- would continue, would make up for his past actions. Did that make his forgiveness pointless, now that Garak was sure to die?

These thoughts plagued him throughout the journey, and he stepped onto DS9 weary from lack of sleep and a weight heavy on his soul.

He'd walked through the empty promenade like a man walks to the gallows, every step dragged and slowed him. Unwilling, he made it to the infirmary.

He’d sat by Garak’s side and the man had awoken, those electric blue eyes flashing in hope when they saw Julian. His heart had dropped, he was unable to speak.

“My dear, wherever have you been? Don’t you know I’m dying?” Garak had asked, voice full of sleep but no less full of drama, of the confidence of a man who knew exactly where Julian had been. Who thought Enabran Tain, whoever that had been to Garak, would care for him enough to spare him.

Julian had watched patients die before, even though he knew he could save them. He’d had to give them, or a distraught family the news of their illness, their inevitable passing. All the while, he had his power tucked inside him, his dirty secret. It had weighed heavy on him, made him question his choice to suppress his power.

But never like this.

Julian cracked a smile, and based upon Garak’s uncertain look it must have been as harrowed as he had felt, “I can only apologise for my absence, Mister Garak. I’ve been on a trip to the Arrowath Colony. It’s lovely this time of year.”

Garak, more wary now he had seen through the doctor’s attempt at humour, asked more hesitantly, “oh? And did you bring a souvenir for me?”

Julian’s heart, recovered from its terror, pounded hard in his chest. Garak was worried. Garak was scared of death, of dying.

He’d let people die before.

Garak’s eye ridges raised the longer Julian paused, and Julian saw a flash of fear in his friends eyes.

His heart broke.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. They had a fascinating collection of Cardassian leukocytes.”

Relief lay bare across Garak’s face, smoothing the tension that had built up. Julian had never seen his friend so calm except when he’d been sleeping during withdrawal. He liked how Garak looked, as if a burden had been lifted from him.

He’d quickly given Garak a double dose of merfadon, had told him he’d wake up healed, had told Garak to trust him and to his mute shock, Garak had done so without complaint.

Julian's heart pounded as he stared at his unconscious friend, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

He’d sat there for hours, slumped in the low light of the infirmary, blessedly deserted due to the night shift. He’d watched Garak’s chest rise and fall, had been mesmerized by the light flicker of his friend’s eyes behind thick grey lids as he dreamt. Julian wondered how he could ever have left the man to die. How he had ever considered it at all.

And then he had fallen. Whether of his own will or not, he had found himself deep within his power. Except, he did not feel the smooth calm as he had before, in the cave on Invernia II. He felt angry; his magic was angry and writhing and thick, oil black sticky tendrils pulled and covered him, suffocating him. Darkness poured through his mouth and into his being, and adrenaline rushed through him, but he was unable to move, he was stuck. _Too long_ it said to him, _trapped, **hidden**_ it shouted and spat and pulled and pushed and engulfed him like a tidal wave.

Sound roaring within him, he felt himself pulled down into the pool. Goopy tough blackness closed above him and he was lost completely in the dark and the evil and the terror, until suddenly he came to, shivering and cold on the hard metal floor of the infirmary. Shaking in terror, he took a few minutes to become fully aware of his being, to the fact that he wasn’t drowning anymore.

He pulled himself up, grasping the bio-bed with what little strength he could. Into view came Garak’s sleeping form, ignorant of the turmoil that Julian had internally endured, his face peaceful.

Julian had grasped Garak’s hand, just as when he'd given his forgiveness, and he accessed his power. He felt it pool over Garak, felt himself, his consciousness enter his friend, first skin deep, then deeper, into his very molecular structure. He found the flaws, and mended them, knitted them back together just as he had done with Kukalaka’s fur. He reveled in it, to use his magic again, and to use it to heal. He felt himself buzz with excitement, the only type of adrenaline rush you can get after experiencing such terror.

It was easy to him, though time consuming and tiring. By the time he had finished, and pulled his spent power and consciousness back into his body, it was the morning shift. It was the morning, and he had used his magic.

He reached out to brush his hand over his friend's forehead, and felt a crackle as he made contact. A low hum inside him, a reaching out, pulled and answered.

Garak was not dead.

He drew his hand up before his face, the hum disappearing as he lost contact with Garak's cool skin. He gazed at; at his simple hand in wonder.

Everything had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> So this can currently be read as a one-shot but life permitting I would LOVE for this to be a multi-chapter story so if that sounds like you'd be interested pls subscribe!!  
> Really hoping to get some wizard of earthsea-type adventures going and it's gonna be fun to see how that interracts with all the space-tech of star trek(!) Also obviously garashir, but possibly featuring really hot dark magic sex. If you, like me, are into that??
> 
> please comment and lmk what you thought! I love you all!


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